


Glass

by imachar



Series: 30 ficlets series [8]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imachar/pseuds/imachar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Year's Eve 2258, and Chris is feeling contemplative...a little angst....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd - read at your own risk.
> 
> Not mine, just borrowing them...

New Year’s Eve 2258 – San Francisco

Chris Pike isn’t much given to introspection, he’s spent his life making brisk, confident decisions and moving on; haunted only occasionally by things that might have, could have, should have been. But as he stands at the floor to ceiling windows of his apartment, high above Richardson Bay and looks out to the rain sheeting down across San Francisco on this last night of 2258 he’s suddenly, powerfully conscious of a sense that he’s living on borrowed time. 

He can’t contain a shiver of dread; unease mixed with an irrational feeling that he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t have made it to the end of this year and his fingers tighten on his glass as he lifts it and tries to sluice away the taste of fear with the burn of fine whisky. 

When he refocuses his gaze from the wind-chopped water of the bay to the window in front of him he can see his own reflection – indistinct and distorted by the rain-spatter that has covered the glass – and approaching through the darkened living room, there’s Phil, his own drink laid aside as he comes up behind and slides an arm around Chris’s waist, leaning his chin on his shoulder.

They hold each other’s gaze in the glass for a moment, before Chris feels the soft brush of lips on his neck and he leans back, letting his cheek slide against the stubbled roughness of Phil’s skin. 

“Stop it.” Phil’s voice is gentle, but there’s a core of steel in it and Chris sighs as he leans back into the warm strength behind him. He’s not entirely surprised that Phil has figured out why he’s brooding tonight, they’ve talked a lot over the last few weeks about all that was lost this year, and Phil’s far too good at reading between the lines of Chris’s rationalizations to find the guilt and grief that’s still buried deep.

“Can’t – not tonight – it feels like…” He pauses and lets the heat of Phil’s body comfort him, drive away a little of the shivering apprehension that's making his heart trip just a little too fast and prickling the hair on the back of his neck. “It feels like someone’s walked over my grave.” It’s an expression his mother uses occasionally and for all the close shaves he’s had in the past he’s never really understood what she meant until now. He shivers again and lays a hand over the one that Phil has resting around his waist, curling their fingers together and squeezing tightly as Phil responds, his voice sure and steady although Chris can hear the ache that’s threaded through it. 

“No, my darling boy. You think I’m letting you go that easily? We’ve got years ahead of us, years.” There’s a conviction in Phil’s voice that could almost convince Chris that it’s true, that Phil somehow has the power, through sheer force of will, to keep Chris safe. That would convince him, if his end hadn’t come so close this year, saved by nothing but luck and timing and the brilliant initiative of one reprobate cadet and it’s that certainty that his life had hung by the thinnest of threads, that makes him stubbornly persist.

“I shouldn’t be here, Phil – I shouldn’t have seen the end of this year.” Chris feels Phil lean in, lips just grazing his ear, breath hot and humid against his skin as Phil growls back.

“Don’t, don’t you dare, don't think it, don’t say it…don’t, Chris…please, just don’t.”

For all the command in the words, the tone is pleading; more supplication than conviction and Chris relents, turning in Phil’s loose embrace until he’s leaning back against the windows. His eyes dark with an aching worry Phil leans in, crowding him as they abandon the words that are failing them and Chris slides his fingers around the base of Phil’s skull, holding his head as they kiss slow and sweet. Phil tastes of peat and salt and the sweetness of heather honey and Chris lets himself fall into the slick wet warmth of the kiss, letting all the uncertainty and unease sink beneath the rising tide of heat and arousal as Phil presses closer. Settling deeper into the kiss they wrap tight around each other, Chris only peripherally aware of the thump and flash of fireworks beyond the glass, the rain finally clearing over the city as the year turns.

_fin_


End file.
